


It's Different Now

by MidnightofLight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Dean-Centric, Drinking, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied Relationships, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2860115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightofLight/pseuds/MidnightofLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has never been easy. Dean Winchester realizes that maybe it's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Different Now

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Supernatural in anyway. Enjoy~

    “Dean!”

     There’s someone yelling his name. Or at least he thinks it’s his name. It’s sort of hard to tell if he’s talking to him or the wall. Dean really hopes he’s talking to the wall because he hasn’t finished his beer yet. The voice is gonna take the glass away. He just knows it.

    “Dean Winchester.” The voice is so dry and boring that it makes Dean want to punch something. But his mind is too fuzzy and warm to do such a thing, so he just laughs and lifts his head, eyes focusing in on the person in front of him.

     He sips his beer, “what?”

     Cas is standing in his trench coat, looking out of place in the room of dancing _humans_  who _Castiel_ doesn’t understand. People close to him just stare at the stupid, naïve angel and shuffle away. He doesn’t seem to give two damns about them because he’s glaring at Dean. Every time he wants to do something fun, Cas is always there to ruin it.

     “What do you mean ‘what'?”

      Dean rolls his eyes, “you’re the one who said my name.”

      “Let’s go,” he orders, rubbing the back of his head. Dean knows Cas feels uncomfortable in situations like this. There are too many young people around; doing things that Cas just doesn’t get. “Come on, Dean, I don’t like how these people are dancing.”

       Through the dim, disco filled light of the room, Dean can see Cas shift his weight. He’s pulling at his collar, obviously hot against the tightly packed bodies. He could just sit down to get out of the way, but Dean can tell Cas wants to look tough and stand his ground.  He kind of feels bad for making Cas so awkward, but at the same time he really doesn’t.

       “If you don’t like it, leave,” he points towards the door and realizes quickly that he’s actually pointing several feet away from the door. He laughs. “The door is somewhere over there.”

        Cas grabs him by his arm and before he has anytime to struggle or protest, they are out of the bar and standing in the middle of a poorly lit street. It’s cold out. Dean shivers. He wants to go back inside to the beer that makes him feel so warm and nice.

       “What the hell, Cas?”

       Cas ignores him, pulling him forward by his hand. Dean starts to laugh as he stumbles—despite the bar getting farther out of his grasp—because it looks like he’s doing a really weird dance. Cas doesn’t seem to find it as amusing as he does when Dean falls into someone’s car.

       “Good thing it wasn’t moving,” Dean comments, leaning against the corvette. Cas stands up on the curb with his hands on his sides, hip slightly jutted out in a way that only Dean notices. Dean knows that stance. Cas is angry.

       “Dean, be serious.”

       “Why?” Dean asks. “We’ve saved the world, Cas.”

       But he doesn’t feel like a superhero.

       Cas’s facial expression doesn’t change. His eyebrows are drawn together, eyes narrowed in two blue slits, acting as though Dean is a foreign object that he’s trying to study but failing at comprehending. His gaze makes Dean feel uncomfortable, so he averts his own at the right front tire of the car. He doesn’t like when people judge him. It bothers him even more when it’s Cas.

       “That does not mean you can run off to insubordinate towns and drink as you please.” Cas sighs. “You are not deplorable, Dean.”

       Dean shrugs, “so? I’m always back within a week.”

       It shouldn’t be a big deal. He’s an adult, and should be able to do as he pleases without Cas sticking his nose all over.

       “Sams worried,” he says.

       Sam. He always has to be pulled into this.

       “What’s he worried about?” Dean crosses his arms, shivering. He had felt so warm a couple minutes ago. Now, he’s freezing in the November night.

       “You just ran off again, Dean!” He grabs Dean’s wrist and pulls him off the car, dragging him further down the street. Dean doesn’t understand what the big deal is. There’s nothing trying to destroy the world at the moment, so why can’t he have fun in his free time?

       “I’m sorry, Cas.”

       “You’ve said that an indescribable amount of time.”

       He shrugs. “I mess up an _indescribable amount of times._ ”

       “Yes, Dean, you do.” Cas doesn’t realize that Dean’s mocking him, and it stings him that he actually agrees. “I don’t think I can deal with this anymore.”

       Dean stops in place, confused. _“What?”_

       “I have been contemplating going back to heaven.”

       Dean just stares at him, something in his chest slowly breaking. Cas has the same, serious expression he always has. He seems set on this. Dean sways slightly and forces a laugh. He doesn’t— _can’t_ —believe it.

       “Nice joke, Cas.”

       “It’s not a joke.”

       Deans caught him in the act. He can let it go. No need to beat a dead horse.

       “I know you’re joking.”

       Cas sighs and repeats, “it’s not a joke.”

       Dean’s body goes rigid, a numb feeling blanketing over. It doesn’t make sense. Heaven screwed Cas over. _Why would he want to go back?_ The single thought makes Dean’s head ache, and he wishes he could’ve finished that beer.

       “Why?” Is the only thing he can say.

       “Because of you!” Cas shouts. Dean flinches. “I betrayed Heaven, everything I stood for, all for you!” His face is beginning to get red. “And this is how you repay me? This is how you repay Sam? By disappearing for weeks and going on drinking exploits?”

       Dean’s quiet. Then he says, probably because of the alcohol, “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

       Cas’s fist hits Dean’s cheek, and he’s sent stumbling to the ground. His hand shoots to it immediately, touching the spot gingerly. He winces. It’s already throbbing, probably bruising, and maybe it hurts more because it’s Cas who punched him. Dean keeps his face expressionless and just stares at him, because what can he say? He knows he’s at fault.

       Cas takes a deep breath, and Dean can see in his eyes that he _almost_ regrets hitting him.

       “We have, Dean. That’s the problem.”

       “Cas…”

       “What do you want me to do?” He sounds defeated; like somebody who’s exhausted every option there is.

       Dean pushes himself up onto his feet and stands back up.

       The answer is simple.             

       “Stay.”

       “And watch you destroy yourself?” He asks, foot tapping. He’s getting impatient. “Do you know how hard it is for Sam and I?”

       Dean can’t let Cas go back. If he does, they both know it’s going to be a one way ticket, a roller coaster that moves forward but never returns to the station. There’s no way in hell Dean can live without seeing Cas again. It hurts when he leaves for even a little bit of time, and Dean finds a part of him leaving with the angel. If he goes, then he might as well take his soul with him, because it will be suffocating and impossible to breath; like the time he lost his other friends, but a billion times worse. He can pray, but it’s always one sided. He needs Cas on Earth where he can feel and see him, revel in the fact that an angel is sitting by his side, eyebrows pulling together in confusion at a television show. A spiritual connection only reaches so far. Especially when the other is trying not to listen.

       He knows he needs to convince him to stay.

       “No.”

       Great job.

       “How would you feel if you found Sam and the Impala gone?”

       Dean doesn’t think before he speaks, which is a mistake, “I’d kill him for touching my car.”

       He remembers his baby is back by the bar, sitting alone.

       Cas grabs the front of Dean’s shirt and pushes him against a brick wall. His glare is intense. So intense that it makes Dean wish he could melt into the wall. At least then he couldn’t make any mistakes, or deal with the disappointment in Cas’s face.

       “No note. No warning. He just left.”

       Dean looks away. They both know how he’d feel, so why is he asking?

       “I’d be worried. He’s my brother-“

       “Weeks,” Cas interrupts. “You look for weeks, only to find nothing. Then, as you are sitting at home, considering calling the police, he stumbles through the door and goes to his bedroom. You try to talk to him, but he only pushes you away.”

       Dean struggles for words. _What would he do?_ He can recall a time where Sam had disappeared, and the thought alone makes his stomach twist into painful knots. The worry was constant, despite telling himself that Sam can take care of himself. The feeling he had when he couldn’t find his brother was awful, _horrendous_ , and there’s no way he could tell if his brother was okay.

       Cas releases Dean’s shirt, and he slides to the ground, trying to forget the feeling.

       “He’s your little brother, Dean.”

       He shakes his head. “He’s not so little anymore.”

       “Even so,” Cas sighs. “Do you think he likes seeing you ruin yourself?”

       Dean uses the wall to help himself stand up. Cas’s punch sobered him up a bit, but he still feels shaky and wobbly.

       “It’s hard,” Dean mutters. It’s a stupid excuse, but it’s the only thing Dean can think of. That horrible feeling of missing his brother—the same one he’d get if Cas left—is still lingering in the back of his back.

       Cas’s expression stays the same; no sympathy. “It’s always been hard, Dean.”

       Dean sighs. “But it’s different now.”

       Because now, it’s actually easier. There’s nothing for him to do but go on small hunts and wallow in his hole of self-pity. They’d all been waiting for a break like this. For their life to finally take a turn for the better so they’d be able to relax. But when it actually came, Dean didn’t know how to deal with it. At least when he’s trying to save the world, he has something to focus on.

       “You don’t think it’s like that for Sam and me?”

       He looks at his boot. “It’s hard for everyone. It’s just-”

       “Just what, Dean,” Cas snaps, “What could you possibly have to say now?”

       Dean takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he knows he has to.

       “After it all ended, you and Sam felt distant. I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

       And that was the truth. The truth that hurt him so much and ached more than any bruise Cas could possibly give him.

       “Why wouldn’t we?”

       “Because I’m such a goddamn screw up,” Dean can’t meet his eyes. He knows it’s true. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

       He grabs Dean by his shoulders and Dean wonders if he’s going to hit him for berating himself. Instead, he pulls him into an awkward, tight, hug, wrapping his arms around Dean and holding him close. It feels like Dean’s hugging Sheldon-freaking-Copper.

       “Dean, it’s so hard to forgive you anymore,” he whispers. Dean tries to push away but, dammit, his angel strength. It takes Dean awhile to realize to notice that reason that Cas is hugging him is because he’s crying. It's unbelievable how easily his emotions take a hold of him without notice, wiggling their way through his poorly constructed walls. He’s too out of it to tell anymore. The pit in his chest that he tried to cover with booze and sex is starting to reopen. He hates it. _Why does Cas have to make him feel so fast and so hard?_

       “Cas, please just let me go back,” he murmurs pathetically. “I don’t want to remember. I don’t know how to deal with this any other way.”

       “They’re dead and there is nothing you can do.”

       He draws a shaky breath, “Cas…”

       “No, it is true. I can’t sweet coat it.” Dean wishes he could laugh at him for messing up a simple saying. But he can’t. They’re all dead. Caught in the crossfire of the war, and burned by his own two hands.

       Dean feels so conflicted. He wants Cas to let go, because he doesn’t believe Cas should be hugging and forgiving him so easily. But at the same time, he’s reveling in the warmth he’s providing and his skin tingles where he makes small, comforting circles on his back. It feels wonderful to have somebody so close who isn't using him.

       “Why?” He asks. “Why did everyone have to leave?” His voice breaks and his legs go numb. Cas kneels down to the ground with him, still holding tight.

       “Remember that song on the radio we listened to?”

       Dean shakes his head. “We’ve listened to a lot of songs, Cas.”

       “It said about having to carry on.” Dean doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t get it. How is he supposed to carry on when all is lost? “Dean, I know you’ve lost so much.”

       “Thanks for reminding me,” Dean rests his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. The material of the trench coat is scratchy, but it’s so comforting; so _familiar_ , that Dean just buries his whole head in the fabric.

       “But look at what you have. Sam, me, and Garth, when he visits.”

       “That’s not a lot.” Dean misses the rest of his family. The thought of them brings unwanted tears to his eyes.

       “It’s enough to get by,” there’s promise in his voice. Dean wonders when and how Cas has gotten so good at comforting others. Maybe it’s just him. “Sam loves you. I love you.”

       Dean’s face burns. “But if I don’t do this, you’ll die.” _Everyone does._ “And it will be permanent.”

       “No, Dean,” he jerks his chin up in a gesture that was probably supposed to be caring and not give him whiplash. His eyes are hard; the kind that tells Dean that if he's making a promise, then he sure as hell isn't going to break if. “I will not die again.”

       Dean grabs his shoulders, lifting his head to look Cas in the eyes. “You can’t promise that.” Dean knows he sounds pathetic. He doesn't care. Cas doesn't realize what he's promising or how much it's affecting Dean.

       “I am an angel,” he states. “I can promise whatever I want.”

        _No you can’t,_ Dean thinks. But he doesn’t argue. For some reason, his promise tugs at Dean’s heart in a good way. 

       Then, Dean asks the question he doesn’t want an answer to;

       “Are you going back to heaven?”

       They’re quiet, and it kills Dean. He wants Cas to say no, because he’s not going to make it in this world without Cas by his side, but he knows how much damage he’s caused and can understand if it’s irreparable.

       “Are you going to stop this?” Cas finally asks.

       “Are you going to stay?”

       Cas nods.

       Dean nods.

       “Okay.”

       Dean smiles a little, resting his head back into the comforting trench coat. The sleepless nights start to catch up on him and he can feel himself slipping. But this time it’s not induced by alcohol. This time it’s not painted in horror and drenched in blood, playing out dramatic, vivid scenes of death. This time it’s easy and warm.

       He just remembered the chorus to the song Cas mentioned.

        _Carry on my wayward son_

_There’ll be peace when you are done_

_Lay your weary head to rest_

_Don’t you cry no more_

__

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And I don't own Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas.


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